


Grim

by linkwrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Harry Potter, Canon Divergence - Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Confused Draco Malfoy, Depressed Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy Feels, Draco Malfoy is Bad at Feelings, Drarry, Fluff and Angst, Gay, Gay Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter is a Good Friend, Harry Potter is a Little Shit, Harry Potter is not white, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Redemption, References to Depression, So does Draco, Sort of Draco-Centric, Swearing, harry does his best
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-10-15 16:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17531837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linkwrites/pseuds/linkwrites
Summary: Draco's return to Hogwarts goes about as well as expected. Harry wants to help.





	1. La Fin et le Début

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!  
> This is my first published work in like four years so bear with me haha  
> xo gabe  
> PS If you notice any mistakes don't be afraid to let me know!

Going back to Hogwarts after the war was easy, considering Draco was technically roomates with the Dark Lord for a year. That wasn’t to say it was actually easy, it definitely wasn’t, but he couldn’t find it harder than anything else he’d had to go through. Draco had been through far too much to let himself be bothered by whispers and blatant glares and jinxes sent at his back while he walked through the halls. (They never landed, he’d learned a circling  _ Protego  _ from his mother months ago, but he could feel them hit the spell every time). 

It didn’t help that Harry “Hero Complex” Potter seemed to be around every corner, always asking him how he was doing, how school was, if he was okay. Potter had testified on his and his mother’s behalf that summer at their trials, and afterwards it seemed like he assumed things had changed between them. So when these checkups started soon after the start of the year, he fell back into habit. At first the reply was almost always a curl of the lip and no words at all. It was automatic, Draco barely thought twice about it, but he started feeling guilty within weeks. He swore he could feel Potter’s eyes on his back every single time he ignored him, and he was almost certain he wasn’t imagining it. 

It only took one bad week for that to change.

The first week of October started badly, and that's saying a lot. He usually took his ward down in the library. People tended not to bother him there, whether because they didn’t care or because they had bigger things to worry about, he didn’t know. He appreciated the calm, however temporary it was. The amount of energy it took to keep the spell up constantly was exhausting and the break was needed by the time he got around to the library every day. That day, though, taking the wards down was a mistake. There were little desks between most of the shelves. He took one in one of the lesser used aisles, knowing he’d be able to hear someone coming from either direction. He was exhausted but he had so much work to do, he knew he’d have to get some done before even thinking of resting. He had been working for nearly an hour when he started at the sound of voices nearby. Nothing to worry about yet, but something to be aware of. 

He was so exhausted and so tuned out that he didn’t hear when those voices got closer. The Body-Bind was on him before he realized how close his attackers were, and his attackers’ fists and feet were on him even faster than that. There was nothing he could do to stop them. One of them got a solid kick in to the bridge of his nose, and although he couldn’t move he felt his muscles try and wince at the crack. Another blow to one ear left it ringing loud enough that he couldn’t hear at all. It didn’t last long, less than a minute if he had to guess, and then they were gone as fast as they’d come. He wasn’t sure if he blacked out or just lost some time as he was dazed, but when he was lucid again he was looking directly into the startling green eyes of the Chosen One himself. 

Though he knew it wasn’t, Potter’s questioning sounded patronizing to him, and at the offer of a hand to Madam Pomfrey Draco snarled something nasty and stood, shaking himself as awake and alert as possible. The irony wasn’t missed on him; a broken nose with Potter standing over him instead of the other way around. He pretended not to notice the hurt that flashed across Potter’s face as he turned and stalked away. 

The rest of the week went on like that. Draco wasn’t much of a believer in luck, but if he were he’d claim the worst of it. He refused to see Madam Pomfrey, even when Pansy begged him, and he straightened his nose in the dormitory bathroom and let the bruise alone. The whispers and looks got worse as people noticed his injury, and although the spells sent his way didn’t seem to get neither better nor worse, he wouldn’t dare let his ward down anymore. His energy was at an all time low, and his lessons weren’t helping. 

Most of the time people wouldn’t dare get in his face. Wizards are like that. Why throw a punch when you can wave a wand? 

That day, when everything changed, it was because a handful of wizards decided to be normal humans. Walking to the library after his last lesson a group of seventh years rounded a corner he was headed towards. He didn’t look at them, not even at the corner they came from, didn’t listen to their conversation, didn’t pay them any mind at all. He knew better than to pay anyone any mind. He kept straight, completely ignored their presence, until their conversation suddenly got substantially quieter behind him. That’s how he knew. He heard them coming but didn’t bother to stop them. He was on probation; using magical force even to defend himself wouldn’t be worth it, he’d just earn himself a broken wand and a trip to Azkaban. He did stop in place, tucked his wand further into his pocket so they would be certain he never tried to use it and braced himself. 

Draco was good at not feeling. He had enough practice for a lifetime. Pretending the blows to his back and stomach didn’t hurt was nothing. Eventually they stopped. He couldn’t hear much around the sound of blood rushing in his ears, but he knew late afternoon classes were getting out soon and he had to move. He had to. 

He stood and started to walk as fast as he could to the nearest toilets, barely pausing to brush his robes off. The bathroom he was headed to was around the corner and two-thirds of the way down that hall near the main stairs. He rubbed some blood from his lip as two Ravenclaws passed him with concerned looks on their faces that he barely processed. He rounded the corner, was almost to the door when someone blocked his path. He growled audibly and tried to push whoever it was out of his way but it was no use; they were solid and immovable and he was entirely too tired and too weak to try. It was Potter, of course it was, and with the typical questions, only this time the concern tinting his voice and features was ten times worse, and this time Draco broke.

“What the fuck do you think,  _ Potter,” _ he all but snarled the words, attempting to push his blockade away a little more forcefully with the anger he found from being around the other man. Potter caught his wrists, though, and held them there. Draco could feel blood on his chin, knew he looked horrible. Knew he was in a bad position, and it was only getting worse. He felt the hands on him tighten enough get his attention.

“What’s going on, what happened?” Potter was genuinely concerned and Draco almost laughed, would have if he could stomach it. “Seriously, Malfoy, what the hell happened to you?” His brows were furrowed and his hair was a mess and Draco was crying and he  _ hated  _ it, hated Harry Potter’s stupid  _ fucking _ face and his concern and everything that made him perfect, that made everyone love him. 

He felt himself being pulled, urgently enough that he started moving his feet of his own accord to help. Potter pulled him behind a tapestry, and Draco dimly wondered if something else was going on, but the shorter man kept pulling him and he let himself go. They come out into a large room that looked very much like the Prefects’ bathroom on the fifth floor, except it couldn’t be because they had been on the seventh, and Draco was certain he hadn’t been going down a descending path or stairs and how could they get down two floors without going down stairs?

The room was exactly like a Prefects’ bathroom; in size and height, even the coloring of the tiles was the same. Draco could only tell it wasn’t one of the normal ones because the lamps weren’t lit and the bath was empty. The empty pool caused a bright echo when they walked and the blue-gray stone throughout the room shone prettily in the natural light from the stained window. Draco watched as Harry waved a hand up at the candle-lit chandeliers suspended from the ceiling and inhaled sharply when the candles flicked to life. He swallowed at the seemingly meaningless display of power. 

“What...what is this?” Draco’s voice echoed deeply through the room, and Harry turned back to him and ran a sheepish hand through his hair.

“It’s, uh. It’s an unused Prefects’ bathroom,” he said. “It’s been abandoned for decades but I found this passageway a while back and…well...it’s nice to have a place like this all to yourself, you know?”

Draco narrowed his eyes at him. “And you decided to bring me here…”

“Because it was the closest private place I could think of,” Harry finished for him. He rolled his eyes at Draco when he gave him a disbelieving look. “Look, you were breaking down, class was letting out, I figured you didn’t want to be seen that way. Maybe if you’d stop being an awful git for two seconds I could heal your lip and check your ear, too.” 

“Oh, so you’re medically trained now, too?”

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair again, “Not exactly, but d’you really think I went on the run for almost a year and learned nothing? C’mon, Malfoy, I’m not that much of an idiot.” 

Draco absolutely did not return the crooked grin Potter shot at him, but his glare softened. He let his shoulders down. “Why do you think I need your help?” He tried to sneer but it barely showed, and he could tell that Potter could tell it was plastered on, the fakest he’d ever seen it. 

“No offense, but you’ve looked like shit for ages. The bruise from earlier this week still looks a bit yellow, doesn’t it.” He stepped closer, just enough so that his voice echoed a little less around the room. “Just let me help you, Malfoy. You don’t deserve this.”

A flare of anger flashed through Draco’s chest and he really did sneer this time. “Don’t I? Did I not participate in what was absolutely the wrong side of the war? Was I not directly responsible for Death Eaters taking Hogwarts, for Dumbledore’s death and the torture of nearly the whole student body? Do I really not deserve a couple bruises and a split lip?” When Potter hesitated he said, “I thought so,” and passed the Saviour, heading for where he assumed the door would be. He only heard Potter’s reply through the echo.

“No, you still don’t. We both know you didn’t have a choice. As much as you’d like to, you don’t get to hide that from me.” Draco halted, turned slowly to face him. Potter’s brows were furrowed again, this time in frustration, and Draco wanted nothing more than to wipe that damn look off his face. “You know I sat through your whole trial? I watched every minute, listened to every second, every horrible thing those people said about you. And then your mother. I listened to her part, how much pressure you had on, how reluctant you were to get the Mark, to fix the cabinet. How you knew that if you didn’t your family would die. I heard her cry when she told them how she begged you not to, said they’d be better off with you free and them dead and gone and you know what? I believed her, and d’you know why?”

Potter actually paused this time, waited for a response. Draco could only swallow, draw out a shaky, “Why?” before he was off again.

“Because she had no reason to lie.” Potter looked at him sadly. Draco felt it in the lowest part of his lungs. “Her trial was finished, she was on house arrest already, she testified  _ against _ your father. So why would she lie for you?”

“I’m her son-”

“You were also a Death Eater. You hurt a lot of people, Malfoy, and she had pointed out every person that had hurt other people. She even pointed you out. But she protected you, too. That’s why you don’t deserve this,” Potter stepped closer to him again, lowered his voice. “Because you didn’t deserve what they did to you then, either.”

Draco didn’t answer, couldn’t. He just looked, not at Harry, but just high enough over his shoulder to stop himself from crying again. “You don’t know what you’re on about.”

“Maybe not,” Harry said. “Doesn’t mean I don’t still want to help you.” 

Harry took a few steps back, took his wand out and waited, letting Draco make his decision. Draco held his breath, weighed his options. On the one hand, he really wasn’t injured all that badly. He could probably fix his lip on his own, and the bruising wasn’t a big enough concern to him. On the other, his ear was still ringing and he was exhausted-

Wait. 

“How did you know about my ear?” Draco asked. The look of confusion that crossed Harry’s face then was clear and caused something close to fear settle in the bottom of Draco’s chest. 

“What d’you mean?” At Draco’s lack of response he went on. “It’s bleeding, Malfoy. All the way past your collar, now.” 

Oh. “Oh.”

“Will you just let me look? I won’t do anything but honestly, it looks bad.” Draco half-sneered, but there was no heat behind it. He took a step forward, mumbled a reluctant “fine,” and waited for the shorter man to start. “You sure?”

“Yes,” Draco said. “Just get on with it.”

Harry stepped to meet him halfway, wand in hand. He cupped Draco’s neck with one hand, used the other, holding the wand, to tilt and move his head. It was ridiculously intimate for the pair. Draco felt a blush creep up his neck and tip his ears. He cleared his throat quietly and Harry grinned at him, laughed in the back of his throat.

“Can you just get on with it?” Draco sniped. Potter winced but didn’t react. He touched a spot on his cheek that  _ hurt,  _ goddamnit, and kept hurting. There were a handful more like that. He didn’t realize they had hit his face so much, but now that Potter had touched each red mark his whole face was aching like hell. He pulled his hands back, mumbled some spells under his breath and motioned over his lip and then his cheeks and jaw with his wand. Draco kept still, ignored the odd pulling feeling that the healing spells caused on his skin. 

“Okay,” Potter took a step back. He didn’t put his wand away or make any motion to leave and Draco was just...tired. “I know they didn’t just get your face.

“No, I am not taking my clothes off for you t-”

“I’m not asking you to,” Potter interrupted. Drao glared at him, already knowing what was coming. “Just go see Pomfrey-”

“Circe, Potter, it’s just a few bruises, there’s nothi-”

“It’s twice in one week Malfoy.” Potter huffed, a big, dramatic, typical sigh that Draco  _ hated _ and knew so damn well. “You might have, like, internal injuries.” Draco rolled his eyes. 

“I’m  _ fine,  _ Potter. I’ll have Pansy look at the bruises, if that’s good enough for you,” he said, and this time Potter rolled his eyes. 

“Parkinson? She’s not trained-”

“Neither are you.”

Harry’s eyes are bright and piercing and  _ mad,  _ and he stares at Draco like he’s staring down a bull. Draco stares right back, stubborn and proud, every ounce of his Malfoy blood blatant in the moment, and both of them knew that the other would not back down easily. Surprising himself, Draco was the one to crack. 

“Pansy’s studying to be a healer. I would put the entirety of my family’s gold on her, and I wouldn’t put half a sickle on you,” Draco bit out.  _ At least I wouldn’t have, before,  _ his brain unhelpfully supplied. He shook his head to clear it. “I’ll have Pansy look at them.” Potter stared at him, jaw clenched, but he nodded, nonetheless.

“I’ll, uh. Door’s over here.” He pointed to Draco’s right, where there was a door not far from the portrait-back they had entered from. He led them out, holding the door open for Draco and locking it behind them with a tap of his wand. “We’re still on the seventh floor. The Arithmancy room is around the corner, there, and you know the way from there,” Harry gestured to the ceiling and then to the corner as he explained, and Draco’s expression grew increasingly more confused. Once he noticed, he said “What?” and rubbed at his neck sheepishly.

“You’re just telling me where I am? No leading me blindfolded through another passage to a different floor? No Confundus charm and dumping me in a random classroom?” Draco narrowed his eyes. His instincts were to expect this to be some sort of trap: Potter gets him all fixed up and vulnerable just to lead him into the mouth of a different beast. But then Harry scoffed and rolled his eyes and it became clear that he was one-hundred percent, totally, idiotically wrong. 

“Yeah, Malfoy, because I’m the guy that would fix a bloke up just to give him a concussion,” Potter said, and Draco had to admit he was right. There wasn’t a time that Draco could remember Potter doing someone serious harm, even when fighting (except for, well. The Incident). As Potter started walking towards the main stairs just past the Arithmancy room, Draco moved to follow him, not sure what else he could do. “I just thought, you know.” Potter stuffed his hands in his robe pockets. Draco recognized it as embarrassment, but then the reddened tips of Potter’s ears gave it up, as well. “I thought it would be nice to have a place to...I dunno. Get away?” It’s phrased like a question, but only out of insecurity. Draco wasn’t sure he understood.

“You think I should have a place to go,” he says, “and you’re just...giving me yours?” 

“No, I...well, yeah, actually. Yeah. I don’t use it that often and it seems a shame to let it go to waste. And you need it more than anyone else I can think of. So...yeah, it’s yours.” He turned to face Draco at the top of the stairs. It was a quarter past six, most of the castle was at dinner. Draco was willing to bet that no one was on their floor, but that didn’t mean his mask was allowed to fall, nor did it stop the confusing blush from crawling up his neck. “Meet me after Potions tomorrow, I’ll show you how to get in,” he said. “It’s not hard to find the tapestry but it’ll be easier to get in if I just show you how the door works.” he hooked his fingers in his already loosened tie, another nervous tick Draco recognized. “And listen, I know this is weird and all and that this would probably be better coming from anyone but me, but we were all part of this war. We’ve all been through hell, you more than most. I just think it’s time you caught a break.”

Draco watched as Harry gave him a small, sad smile, and for a second he swore he saw the same glossed-over, guarded look he so often saw in his own reflection. He waved a half-wave and started jogging down the stairs, leaving a confused and frustrated Draco behind. 


	2. Une Admission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation and an Admission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof sorry about the wait on this one, I hit a huge spread of writer's block and this chapter just...would Not get out. Hope you like it! :)  
> -Link

Harry taught Draco the incantation to the room the next afternoon. There was still tension and neither knew how exactly to act, but some of the tension drained when Harry admitted he wasn’t sure that Draco was going to show up. Draco had shrugged, said something about Harry being right for once and appreciating the privacy. Before they went their own ways, Draco stopped Harry with a light hand to his shoulder and thanked him for what he’d said and for sharing the bathroom.

“Well, it’s the right thing, innit?” Harry replied, which annoyed Draco to no end, but he decided to let it be, taking a deep breath and following Harry to the door anyway. 

The next time he saw Harry outside a shared class was about a week later. He was headed to dinner from the library. Harry rounded a corner in front of him, a smile blooming over his face when he saw Draco, and, Circe, that damn blush crawled back up his neck as if its only job was to greet the other wizard. Harry waved at him and he gave a short wave back, holding back the smile that wanted to cross his features.

“Hey, Malfoy,” the shorter man called down the hall at him, and Draco would’ve rolled his eyes if it weren’t for all the eyes suddenly on him. Harry jogged the rest of the way to meet him. Draco’s nerves stood up straight, aware of the people around and the scene they were audience to. He gave Harry a look, followed by narrowed eyes when Harry gestured awkwardly between them. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “They can’t hear us.” 

Draco sensed the  _ Silencio  _ around them and marveled once again at Harry’s power. “How do you do that?” he blurted before he could stop himself. Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets in that half-sheepish way that Draco had seen a million times. He had never seen it as sincere, but then again he had always seen Harry as a fantasy, an act. Seeing it up close was a whole different energy. Harry sent one of those sheepish half-grins and shrugged.

“I, uh. You probably know I only did a month of press after...you know,” he said. Draco nodded. “They wanted me to do the whole summer, start Auror training as soon as possible after that. I didn’t want it. I don’t even-anyway. I spent the rest of that time at the Weasley’s, just staying out of sight.” Harry glanced around and, seeing that there were still eyes on them, started walking backwards and gestured for Draco to follow. “Let’s talk somewhere else. Get some food later, yeah?” Draco almost declined, but he was curious. He rolled his eyes and followed. Harry turned and fell into step with him after a handful of paces. There were still people watching, whispers starting up and getting louder as they walked on. Harry seemed unaffected, but Draco figured he had had his fair amount of attention both before and after that fateful night. He was probably used to it. 

“You never answered my question,” Draco pointed out as they walked. 

“Be patient, we’re almost there,” Harry replied. Draco let the “Where?” fall dead on his lips, somehow aware that it would get no response. They walked onward, past the Great Hall and to a hallway just off the main hallway down to the dungeons. There, Harry tapped twice on a door on their left side with his wand and let it swing inwards. The room had apparently been unused for awhile, judging by the cloud of dust that puffed outwards through the open door. Harry waved a hand in front of his face and coughed. Draco took shallow breaths. “Fred and George showed me this place in my fifth year. It’s just a classroom but it has a lock. It’s, like, secret magic, or something.” Draco followed Harry in, copied Harry when he used his wand to get rid of the dust on a couple tables and chairs. It looked like an old Potions room, with tall stools and tables and cauldron stands next to each station. The air was stale from disuse, but not intolerable. Harry waved his wand at the chandelier; the ancient wax lit a moment after. The pair sat across from each other at one station. 

Harry cleared his throat. “So, yeah. I just wanted to get away, and I ran out of stuff to do around the Weasley’s. I spent the first month just fixing stuff or cleaning stuff up. Kept my mind off things for awhile. I ran out, though. I started getting caught up in my head, just thinking too much about everything that had happened. And Ron and Hermione both went to Australia to work on getting Hermione’s parents back and sorted, so they got back right around the time I was starting to really get caught up. They helped loads, just keeping me grounded. Ron got me to talk about Quidditch or school or whatever and Hermione starting bringing me books.” Harry ran a hand through his hair. Draco wasn’t sure where this story was going or how it was going to answer his question, but something in Draco’s stomach burned at the look on Harry’s face, and again he was reminded that he had never seen  _ this  _ Harry up close. He was pensive, almost distracted, and Draco just wanted him to keep talking. He wondered, abruptly, when his contempt for Harry turned into wonder. “They had to back to Australia after a week or so, but Hermione kept sending me books. Lots of ‘em were Muggle books, she called them classics, and they were huge so they kept me busy for a long time. But she also sent me some magical ones on stuff like wordless and wandless magic and cyclical transfiguration, and some runes books, too,” he explained. He grew more animated as he talked but scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment when he saw Draco watching him. “It was all I had - Well, that or go back to the press. It kept my mind busy. I dunno if it was...not having something hanging over my head anymore or if I just needed something to distract me and that was my only option but...I started teaching myself how to do that stuff and taking in as much as I could. When the letter for school came I didn’t think twice.”

Draco was staring. It felt like hours and seconds at once, Harry blanked and staring at nothing and Draco staring straight at him. He’d noticed before, of course he had, but he’d never been so _close._ He wondered what he was thinking, what he was feeling, and in the same second he felt that feeling bubble up in the bottom of his sternum, on he’d pushed down a hundred times before. Harry seemed to shake himself out of whatever stupor he was in and Draco averted his eyes, tried to think of something to say. 

“Sorry, I-”

“Don’t be, Potter,” he said, calmly as if he hadn’t just been staring at the other man trying to read his mind. His words were more controlled than he felt. “It’s impressive, don’t apologize.”

“I didn’t mean to be impressive,” he shrugged, “I think learning comes easier and more fun when you’re not learning to save your own life.” There was a moment of silence between them where neither of them know what to say. Draco blurted out the first thing he can think of. 

“Mother taught me a circling shield over the summer.” Harry’s eyes snapped back to his face and Draco felt it. “We were out, on house arrest, and she was on magic restriction. I told her that I was going to take the offer to come back to school and the next day she had me practicing. It’s not technically wandless, but keeping the spell up all day is exhausting.” The admission itself wasn’t difficult. Draco wasn’t an idiot, he knew his limits and he knew he was reaching them daily. The hard part was meeting the other man’s eyes and reading the pity there. “It’s just  _ Protego _ ,” he mumbled. “It’s not any big-”

“You keep a full shield up all day long and  _ survive _ ,” Harry interrupted. Draco flushed and nodded. “Everyday?” He nodded again.

“Except weekends. I try to stay in my dorms, then.” He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, suddenly feeling like he was oversharing. How did he get here?

Harry nodded like he understood. Somewhere in Draco a switch flipped, and a sneer painted itself across his face without him even thinking about it. “Fuck off, Potter, don’t act like you  _ get it.” _ Harry looked back up at him, shocked. 

“No, I-” Harry stuttered, “I don’t. Get it. Of course I don’t. I was just thinking. Well, you’ve looked like shit all year, you’ve probably lost a stone and a half since term started-“

“I didn’t realize you were paying such close attention,” he spat, but the bite missed its mark. His glare softened at the same time that Harry’s lips turned up in a smile. 

“You’re a piece of shit when you want to be, you know that, Malfoy?” he laughed. Draco rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands in tired exasperation. 

“So?”

“ _ So _ ,” Harry continued, “now I know why. That’s an incredible amount of energy, mate, and really strong magic. Honestly, it’s incredible you’ve survived this long.” 

Draco blushed at the compliment. Surprising himself, he snorted at his last remark. 

“That’s rich coming from you, Potter,” he said, and laughed again at the confused look on the other man’s face. “You almost died annually for seven years straight. You think everyone thought you would make it this far?”

Harry laughed after a moment and mumbled something about not doing it on purpose. Draco hid his smile behind a hand. There was another moment, comfortable and not all at once, and Draco couldn’t even find the nervous drumming of Harry’s fingers on the table annoying. 

“Keeping a shield up constantly like that is-” Harry stopped, hesitant, but only for half a heartbeat, “it’s powerful magic. That kind of energy should’ve killed you by now.” 

Draco shrugged. “I only started keeping it up full time after the thing in the library. I thought I could let my guard down. I was wrong.” The mumbled words seemed to have no effect on Harry, who just looked more curious. 

“Do you really not care that you should be dead?” Harry asked him. Draco leaned forward onto his elbows, laced his fingers together on the back of his neck and sighed. Avoiding the other man’s eyes, he traced the line of his shoulders under his school shirt instead. He wasn’t sure what made him say it, what made him admit what he was about to. Trust wasn’t something he’d ever had much of, and that wasn’t about to change, especially not for Potter.                        

“Honestly? No.” 

The look Harry gave him then was angry, but Draco read the frustration on the edges of Harry’s expression, as if he’d known him this way forever. Harry leaned forward, absently, into his space, and Draco could only watch, trapped under his own hands as Harry leans conspiratorially across the tall table. He’d never seen Potter as particularly curious, but now that they were there and the curiosity was blatantly painted over his features he really couldn’t think anything else. He was self-conscious, suddenly overly aware of his appearance. Was it really so noticeable that  _ Potter _ noticed? 

“You should,” Harry said, his voice quiet enough to barely stir the air between them, but sudden enough in the silence that Draco flinched. He straightened from his hunched position and leaned back, just to put distance between them. It was odd, being in a room alone with Potter of all people, especially so soon after both of their worlds seemed to come to an abrupt stop. The bashfulness sitting in the bottom of his stomach was unusual in an uncomfortable way, a murky but rippling ball of air that he’d never experienced before. His ears rang with the quiet of the room; he considered casting a hanging clock charm just to fill the silence.

“Should I?” he said, finally. He didn’t meet Harry’s eyes, spoke just loudly enough to be heard. The question had been the obvious response, but he hadn’t expected to actually say it. By the look on his face, Harry hadn’t, either. There was something about the room, the air or the aura, that was making his words come easier. The candlelight above them flickered. Harry never looked away, and though Draco was used to the intensity of Harry’s glare, this was something completely different. There was a kindness behind the intensity, behind the curiosity, that Draco had never experienced before. The blush on the back of his neck from his own anxiety spread up his neck and to his ears. “Why’s that?”

“I don’t know.” Came the response. Harry leaned back again to match him. “I think you should be worried. Most people would be.” 

“I’m not most people,” Draco mumbled. “I don’t think I deserve that luxury.”

“It’s not a luxury. It’s just how it is. You worry about dying until you die, even if it’s just subconsciously.”

Stubbornness was one of Harry’s most famous traits. It seemed the end of the war didn’t change that. Draco didn’t let it phase him. After all, he was known for moments of stubbornness himself, however ignorant he was in those moments. Still, Potter’s concern for his own thoughts was baffling to him. There was no point, no reason for him to care. Draco scoffed under his breath, shook his head. 

“Do you?” he asked. This time it wasn’t a surprise. Deflection was a tool he was quite familiar with. 

Harry frowned. “What d’you mean?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Care, Potter. Do you care if you live or die? Do you care that you should be dead, too?” he asked. He felt some of his old smugness crawl back, comforting like a blanket and an open window, but he pushed it away. Now was not the time to take pleasure in another’s discomfort. He was almost sure that time would never come again. 

Harry’s eyes left Draco’s face for the first time, tentative, and something in Draco wanted them back. Potter was thinking, he was actually going to answer. Draco thought it odd that he was taking so long to just spit out his answer, but he realized, belatedly, that Potter wasn’t thinking about his answer. He was deciding whether or not to. 

“I do, in some ways. I don’t care if I die, but I’d rather live. I have people, and I have things to do,” Harry said. “I didn’t at first, not right after the war. I died that night. And when it happened I had a choice. I could have stayed, I could have died, but it wasn’t done, yet. I had to finish the job.” Harry was grinding the words out, almost scared in his reluctance. Draco reached instinctively to put a hand on his arm. “After, well. Press. Awards, interviews. For weeks. It was like even though he was gone, his influence was still around. He was still running my life. When I left I was good for awhile, like I said, but eventually it set in that for a huge part of my life I everything I did was because of him. I had things that were mine, like my friends and Quidditch, but the most of me was him. That almost killed me.” 

Harry stopped, left the air in the room still, and he looked at Draco, honest and proud, every inch the Gryffindor that Draco knew he was. “Should I be dead?” he shrugged. “Maybe. Who knows? It doesn’t really matter, in the end. I’m gonna die either way. But do I care now, if I die? Yes, I do. I don’t have some powerful Dark wizard in my life anymore, I don’t have a world to save, but that doesn’t matter. I had to go from having a huge, important reason to live to a handful of little reasons, and you know what? It’s a million times better.

“I suppose I don’t have a real answer. Just a preference. But we’ve lived remarkably similar lives, only on opposite sides of a line. I think you should care about yourself because I do. I want you to.”

What do you call it when your chest feels like a punching bag? Draco stared open-mouthed at Harry. Harry held his gaze. There was no pity there, no disgust or shame. Just clear and honest understanding. 

“I don’t deserve-”

“Bullshit.”

A pause, a breath between them, then nothing. Draco leaned back, retracted his hand from Harry’s arm, and  _ breathed,  _ one slow, practiced cycle  he had used for as long as he could remember to calm himself down. It was funny, in a way, that Potter was the last person to see him cry, and he might just be the next as well. 

“Come on, it’s getting late,” Harry said, breaking the silence. Draco nodded. “You have an Arithmancy exam tomorrow, too. Sorry for keeping you this long.”

“How’d you know I have an Arithmancy exam?”

Harry smiled, and it was odd and misplaced in the quiet shakiness of too many emotions in one room, but it was good. Draco wanted it to stay. 

“Dean’s in your class, he’s been worrying all week,” Harry laughed. Draco laughed, too, and shook his head. 

“It is a big one. Worth a third of our grade or something.” Draco picked his bag up and stood, handing Harry his bag by the strap as well. 

“Are you worried?” Harry asked. He flashed the other man a rakish, almost-smug grin. 

“Never.”


End file.
